Why Tonight?
by beautifulugly
Summary: The first time had been clumsy, the second had been angry, and every time after that had been bold. So why was tonight any different? What was going on in his mind? LOVE THIS STORY! Rated M for sexual content and offensive language. Dramione and explosive. Read, enjoy, and review!


**A/N: So this story was a biter, something that sort of just gripped my attention and wouldn't let go until I got it out on metaphorical paper. Five years after their seventh year at Hogwarts, and after three years of a long, intense affair between business partners Hermione and Draco, it seems that all it takes is one poorly executed question to change everything. I apologize for the length in advance. Rated M for sexual content and offensive language.**

**Read and Review!**

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><p>The first time had been clumsy and drunk. Fumbling about his flat, knocking over lamps and slamming into walls, ripping at each other's clothes and devouring the other's mouth. He'd been trembling the entire time, swearing, laughing with little humor, while she had done the same. It had hurt at first, and he had had no idea what he was doing. But they'd gotten the hang of it quickly enough, and once they had started it seemed neither of them could stop.<p>

That was until morning came, and they'd both nearly screamed the apartment building down in their rage and embarrassment, and they swore it would never happen again.

The second time was angry. Rough and needy, an all-out battle for dominance, much like every other aspect of their lives. A constant back and forth between a man that had spent his entire life being handed full control and a woman that knew how to dig her heels in.

She hadn't meant to snap at him, and he hadn't meant to call her that name. That's them she accidentally screamed, and that's when he'd accidentally took a step toward her and pushed her into the wall. She had never meant to slap him.

And he had never meant to lift her onto his desk and taken her until neither of them could see straight.

And neither of them had meant to repeat this exact incident, on this exact desk, three other times.

The next times were bold, even playful even, like every time after. Each time full of unspoken challenges, daring the other and egging the other on. Who would come first? Who would scream the loudest? How many different places could they lose complete control in?

Then there had been the times of frenzied, desperation, after countless times having sworn the fling to be over. One or the both of them cracking under some unknown pressure, drawn together over and over again to find some kind of release or comfort that sex offered. It was a cycle. They were repeat offenders, always swearing to be done and showing up for more. For three years, sex had been often and the fights had been fewer. Lover's quarrels did not exist here. It was just sex. Only fucking, really. That was all it was, good friends, business partners, blowing off steam and enjoying each other's company.

Only twice had the motives strayed from the themes of anger and recreation.

The first had been the death of his mother Narcissa, nearly two and a half years ago when Hermione was only finishing up with her apprentice stage and had just moved her stuff into the small office adjacent Draco's. They'd still been in London at the time, the weather strangely brutal for spring. The thunder had done little to mask the frequent crashes and angry growls that occurred in the room beside her.

She had gone to him that night, shyly, unsure of the correct etiquette for comforting a man you had both a questionable past and casual sex with. But he had let her in, and she held him, and the cried and drank together. Morning came, she dressed, and she met him at the office with a mug of tea on his desk, a paper cup of bitter black coffee, and Muggle aspirin.

She grinned at his words still, still seeing that smile in his drooping eyes as he'd taken the coffee and looked at the aspirin with hesitance.

"You're not my assistant, Granger. You could have just showed up naked."

The second time had been only a year ago, the night she came back from Australia.

The tenth anniversary of the day she had Obliviated her parents and left her home had arrived, and, under the illusion it would give her closure, she had taken the week off to visit her hometown and check up on them from afar.

She had left on a Friday night, May 2nd, telling Draco she would be back the following Friday, May 9th, but would not return to work until that Tuesday, May 13th. A buffer, recovery time.

She had been back in London on Monday, May 5th.

No suit case, no makeup, and two parents buried six feet under as of a year prior, on behalf of a drunk driver and his rather large SUV.

He'd found her on Tuesday, lying in bed, still in her jeans and jumper, Crookshanks begging for food as she stared up at the ceiling and cried silently.

She remembered hearing him call her name, feel herself being shaken, listened to him call into work and make an excuse for needing the rest of the week off.

He had undressed her, had even coaxed her into a long, hot shower. Not once did she speak, nor did she meet his eyes.

He had carried her to bed then, and she had only managed a shockingly solid "Thank you" before pulling his lips down to hers.

She had woken with him curled about her body, and she still couldn't remember a single instance where they'd gotten out of bed that week.

Never had it been slow. Never had they done anything that would constitute as making love. Never had it gone past the carnal need for some release in a place they knew was safe. With someone they knew wouldn't laugh, wouldn't argue, wouldn't push for them to stay or leave, wouldn't expect anything more than a kiss goodbye.

So why tonight? Why was tonight different? Why had he gone slow? And why had she let him? She knew something was off from the beginning, when he'd asked her to go out to dinner rather than telling her they were going out or just telling her to come to his place directly.

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><p>It was the last hour of a brutal day at Pure Industries, the entire marketing division preparing for the weekend as they cleared their offices and loosened their ties or kicked off their heels. It seemed that right from the start this morning that everybody had important meetings, everyone had to be somewhere, and for the two coordinators of the wing, Draco Malfoy, reluctant heir to the Pure Industries throne , and his right hand lady Hermione Granger, it was a crazy day contained in the walls of the glass conference room.<p>

"She gets worse and worse." Hermione groaned after just having shaken hand of and wishing the best to yet another condescending Pure Industries client. She sat down for the first time in hours, kicking off her needle thin stilettos and propping her feet up on the table in a very unladylike manner

"That woman is going to be the end of my patience. I have been dealing with her company for three years now! You think she would start trusting me and quit referring to me as 'the help'." she complained as Draco took the seat beside her, shrugging a _"what are you gonna do"_ shrug.

"She's a huge benefactor here," he said, as if that excused her behavior. "Plus, I think my dad dated her in high school. You would be an unsavory character too."

Hermione laughed loudly, watching him shudder at the idea. Soon the laughter faded to comfortable silence, and they watched the sun set burning across the sky, reflecting off the high buildings of the city. This office was set in Muggle New York, one of the main hubs of Pure Industries international workings, both Magical and Muggle. Hermione had missed her view of London at first, but she'd come accustomed to ending her days like this, watching the sunset from this conference room beside someone she considered her best friend, as well as the man she shared a bed with on most nights. And home being only an apparition away made life all the sweeter.

"You look like you need a meal." Draco finally said, nudging her chair with his, pivoting it to spin around.

She watched him spin and laughed, shaking her hair out of her eyes. "Want to order a pizza?" she asked, knowing they still had a half hour left of office time. His eyes lit up at the mention of pizza, but he quickly shook his head, another idea in his wonderfully blonde head.

He looked at her slyly, a grin appearing on his face. "Actually," he started, confident, but he faded as he continued. "Why don't I... I mean, we... We was thinking- no _I_ was thinking..." he cleared his throat nervously, too loudly, catching her off guard. "How about we go out somewhere? I'll make a reservation for six thirty." he said, smiling at her a little too hopefully.

The grin both eased her and made her uncomfortable. Since when did Draco turn down Pizza? It was his favorite Muggle food.

"You sure?" she offered, dropping her feet from the table, "We could just-"

"We've been ordering take away and going back to my flat for three weeks straight. We should go out somewhere."

That word. _Somewhere._ It sounded so false. Like it didn't belong there, and he was just placing it there as a buffer, to avoid those dreaded three dots that one puts at the end of the sentence to mean more, the three dots synonymous with promises and a future.

_We've been ordering take out and going back to my flat for three weeks straight. We should go out..._

Where? Now the sentence was too vague. Where were they going? Where was out?

_Merlin..._

"I guess... We could get a bite at the pub down the street. It'll be busy on a Friday night, but-"

"Granger!" Malfoy scoffed, half-laughing at her density. "We're wizards! We can go wherever we want in THE WORLD, and you want to go to the pub around the corner? Where's your sense if adventure? What happened to the Brightest Witch of Our Age?"

Hermione's brows drew together with determination, standing to meet his gaze evenly. "She's right here."

He smirked at her. He loved kicking up their old rivalries. The fun side of them anyway, the one that involved battling for highest marks and flirting relentlessly, not the mark permanently burned into his forearm, his years of bullying her due to the blind prejudice he'd grown up with, and his father's ten years in Azkaban.

"Then let's do something courageous, Princess Gryffindor." he said deeply, leaning closer to her, pressing her backside against the large conference table. His hand snaked its way up her hip as she reflexively slid back to sit on the table's top to allow him space.

_He _does _have a way with words,_ she thought hazily, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he leaned closer and closer between her legs...

"I suppose, Prince Slytherin... If you promise to make it worth my while later on..."

"I'll go make the reservation." he chuckled, squeezing her hip as she sighed in both defeat and disappointment when he moved away.

Swooping down to snatch his brief case, he pecked her on the cheek before disappearing from the room.

"You can't make it on your mobile?" she called after him, watching him wide eyed as he nearly bounced out of the room. She tried not to look flustered, tried not to look too bothered by the way he was smiling at her, the way his gray eyes reflected the waning light outside.

"Well, I _could_ if I wanted to ruin the surprise. Meet me in the lobby at six, sharp. I expect you in a dress and heels." he was already walking out the door.

"I hate surprises." she whined, but he was no longer listening.

"Oh!" his blonde head reappeared, his gaze now turning feral, "And wear something green." With a coquettish, very Malfoy-like wink, he was gone.

"That fucking kink!" she sighed out loudly, leaning back on her palms and closing her eyes, letting the cold wood of the table sooth her.

After a moment, when the bubbliness of his reaction and his flirting wore off, another sigh ran her through.

She really hated surprises. Especially ones from Draco. Over the three years of their little "fling," he had made a habit of shocking his Princess Gryffindor.

Whether it was following her into the woman's loo for a birthday shag, or just leaving a box of her favorite chocolates on her desk, the surprises always made Hermione smile. And then they made her weary. They made her doubt. They made her question what exactly was going on between them.

Contrary to his usual cool and aloof attitude toward women, Draco was not a man to do things "just because." There was always a need, some kind of rhyme or reason. Why did they sleep together? Cause it was fun and easy. Why did she often sleep in his flat? Cause it was better than walking home.

Nothing was _just because._

And now, dinner. Going out... Somewhere. Out somewhere she could handle, Hermione decided. They'd done lunch plenty of times, even the occasional breakfast out. This was just dinner. A meal, as he had said it. Why were they going out to dinner? Because food was a necessity to life. Just like sex was...

Then Hermione realized it.

It wasn't the going out that bothered her. It was that last thing he'd said, that last wink.

"Wear something green." And she knew he wasn't just referring to the short cocktail dress he loved so much.  
>Those had been bedroom eyes he'd made at her, the only bedroom eyes she's ever seen. Eyes he only used for getting her dress off and getting himself some action.<p>

Dinner was one thing.

Sex was one thing.

But dinner _and sex._

That was... A date.

The word made Hermione twitch. It was ridiculous really. The man was her best friend, her only friend in the states. She'd given her bloody virginity to him for goodness' sake! Well, she took his, too... Did that count as trading? Could you trade virginities?

_Keep it together, Hermione._

The point was, she should have been able to handle the idea of a date with a man every other sane witch, wizard, muggle, slug, moose, whatever, would call her lover. But she couldn't. Even the word _lover _made her nearly run for the hills. She and Draco could not be _lovers. _They were friends, business partners. He protected her, and she did her best to understand his traumas and heal them. They cared for each other, but she knew Draco could find that same care elsewhere. Putting labels on things... They only raised her hopes. And hope was a very dangerous thing for her heart, as she had experienced a number of times on the abundance of terrible first dates Ginny had forced her on in the past three years. She went out with so much hope, just _knowing _that it would be good for. But her hopes were left unfulfilled, until she sought out Draco once again, and she felt whole.

No. A date was most certainly out of the question. And Draco Malfoy was _not _her lover. There was no hope. There was nothing but sex and companionship.

Just because they had dinner and sex in the same night didn't mean it was a date. They'd had countless takeout meals before stripping down before, why would this be any different?

Steeling herself against every instinct in her body telling her that this was different even though she had know idea WHY it felt different, she replaced her heels on her feet and stood shakily, giving one last look to the tangerine sunset before leaving the conference room to prepare for dinner and sex...

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><p>"Six sharp." Hermione mumbled into the summery air as she awaited Draco's arrival by the lobby door at 6:05. Wizards and witches were still a constant colorful stream of in and out at this time of day, and every time the door opened she caught a breeze of the warm night air of June and wished herself outside, somewhere with him that was both warm and alone.<p>

She had worn something green, having morphed her business attire into a shorter version of the cocktail dress she could see hanging in her little section of his closet in his flat. Made of layers of twisting green satin, the dress hugged her curves graciously, but was easy to move in. Her gray stilettos were now a deep patent black with red soles and silver studded spikes creating a line at the back of each heel. Very Malfoy, she had mused while transfiguring them. She had hastily charmed her hair into a simple up do, but it was falling quickly as she waited for Draco to get here.

She looked good. She knew she did. Maybe even good enough to make him forget this whole dinner thing, skip the reservation, and hurry her back to their flat and-

_His _flat. _HIS. FLAT._

She thought her heart was trying to break through her sternum suddenly as she made sure to scream it inside her head for good measure. _His flat!_

_Merlin's balls_, she thought, a very Draco Malfoy thing to think, _What the was wrong with her tonight?_

"Have I ever told you that you think at incredible volumes?" A familiar;y liquid voice asked, jostling her from her thoughts and prompting her to turn.

Merlin, he looked fantastic in all black, she thought immediately, the only bit of color in him being his tidy, platinum hair and the near indiscernible gold pin stripes in his tie.

"You're late." she answered with a glare, pushing a stray curl from her face in a practiced motion.

"Can't rush perfection, darling." he said roughly, eyeing her with flagrant appreciation. "Although you seem to have achieved it in record time."

Any other woman would have blushed. Hermione, however, only rolled her eyes and told herself it was the heat of the room causing her cheeks to redden.

"Shall we?" he asked formally, his eyes still glinting with flirtation as he offered his arm.

Taking it easily, she admonished, "Flattery will get you nowhere," then, with the best sultry tone she could muster as they exited the building into the rush of Muggles, "But, are you wearing _gold_?" She had never understood his fixation on seeing her in his old house colors, had called him a pervert for his sudden persistence when she had dug up his old Quidditch jersey and worn it after a post-coital shower. However, this was the first time in their three years of sleeping together and five years of working side by side for incredibly long hours that she had seen him wear anything even hinting at the colors red and gold. No maroons, no pinks, not even a raggedy brown tee shirt. Warm tones were nonexistent in his wardrobe, and she had to admit, she was rather enjoying the sudden change, however small.

Slowly, they walked down the sidewalk arm and arm, drawing both appreciative and jealous looks from passerby.

"And you're wearing green and spikes. If I can restrain from pulling you into an alleyway and having my wicked way with you, so can you." he said seriously, patting her hand in encouragement.

Hermione could only laugh, trying to hide her disappointment at his resolve. Dinner was easy. Sex was easier. And it was clear he was determined to have both, and in that order.

Finally, she let out a tiny sigh as he pulled her into an alley and flush against his body.

"You looked stunning, Granger." he said seriously, a strange glint in his eyes. She meant to open her mouth to respond, to question, _something_, but she was too busy clutching his coat as they aparated away to think of anything else but his hands around her waist.

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><p>"That is the <em>last time <em>we apparate drunk." Hermione giggled, gripping his arm tighter to keep from stumbling as they walked up the stairs to her flat. The elevator had been broken for a month or so, yet another reason they never ended up here. That, and Crookshanks did not enjoy sharing the side of the bed opposite Hermione's with anyone, especially someone that kicked him when Hermione wasn't looking. "I thought I was going to lose a leg!"

"Yes, I believe I may have left a kidney somewhere in France." he joked, surprising Hermione and making her laugh even louder. They would surely be disturbing the neighbors had they been in the hallway, as it was nearly midnight here in New York. "Although I do wish I had lost these shoes. That drying charm was hardly effective." he complained, referring to the way his shoes still squished wetly as they climbed the last flight of stairs.

"I told you not to just go rushing into the duck pond! I swear, I think we woke up the entire city of Paris." she said with a shake of her head, really only having a fuzzy recollection of that particular event. That was after maybe her seventh or eighth firewhiskey, her last one, lucky number thirteen, having been somewhere on that island in Malaysia only two hours ago. However, her head was beginning to clear slightly, and she was now remembering how exactly his suit jacket had ended up around her, and why she felt that a spot on her neck was rather bruised. "And how well were you expecting me to charm in such a state? What was it, a field sobriety test?" Seeing that the Muggle reference was lost on Draco, she continue, "The hem of my dress is still wet, too."

Opening the heavy metal door to her floor, Draco took her hand and pulled her significantly closer. "Well, maybe if you had stripped down like I had suggested we would both be a little more comfortable." His whisper, scented with expensive alcohol, and his proximity, scented with aftershave, were both enough to send her nearly careening into the wall beside her.

If she were to be truly honest, Hermione would say that she was most certainly not _drunk_. And not just the most certainly not drunk that drunk people often claimed to be, but truly sober. Was she a tad off balance? Yes. Were his jokes a lot funnier than usual? Yes. But that is where her impairments ended. She did not miss the way his fingers stroked her hand tenderly, or the way he was stealing glances at her face, not her body. Draco Malfoy was neither tender nor sentimental where she was concerned. He was unceremonious and bruising, never cruel but never careful. In all respects he should have had her moaning against the outside of her door by now, but they were still talking, holding hands, looking at her with those mirror-like eyes. She felt conflicted, her body quickly heating with desire as her heart ached dully in her chest, wanting to stay here in this moment and continue to laugh and just be looked at.

The nerve of her heart, having been near dormant on all matters Malfoy, or so Hermione had told herself. Three years it had been quietly watching her and this man participate in what was sure to be one of the most unhealthily detached sexual relationships ever known, and it had not cried or hurt, only watched. And now, after a night of fun and country hopping, from Italy to France to Malaysia, to the coasts of Ireland, her heart suddenly would not shut up, all the while her slightly inebriated brain could not figure out why she had thought this dinner and sex thing was a bad idea, while the rest of her body was most agreeable on the matter of sex. _When you have an itch, you have an itch._

It was as if Hermione were watching herself allow this slowness, allow this lapse of time between them arriving at the apartment and the time that he _should _have been advancing quickly on her. Being rough, making her laugh, making her pant. She knew his movements, knew how he operated, knew that he wasn't one to dally when it came to his pleasure, so when his hands came up to cup her face, completely bypassing other areas she knew he particularly liked, and his lips touched hers, she knew she was in trouble. From the soft caresses to the way he was kissing in her in long, deep strokes, she was at a sudden loss for who this man touching her was. Draco didn't _kiss. _Draco didn't hold her waist the way this man did. And he sure as hell didn't murmur words like _beautiful _against her lips as he pulled pin after pin from her wild mane and _placed her _on the bed. And yet his smell, his taste, his hands, every inch of him was more Draco, more breathtaking than they ever had been. Every movement, every _zip _or shuffle of clothing, was filled with an unspoken motive, a promise. He used his mouth, his hands, bringing the both of them up and up over and over again, watching her, waiting for her, slowing her whenever she tried to speed his process. Everything was molten and aching in wave after wave of pleasure...

* * *

><p>"<em>Oh, Hermione..." <em>Draco groaned beneath her, Hermione falling lax into his shaking arms as she whimpered his name in return. For a moment, she was blind, blissfully numb to her surroundings and whatever pieces of her body beyond her spasm-ridden core and the huffing man beneath her, coated in sweat and trying to blink past the stars in his eyes.

_Finally, a little bit of familiar ground, _she said with a contented sigh as she finally regained enough of herself to roll away from him and off the bed. She couldn't help the breathless laugh that escaped her at her difficulty to stand, pushing her lion's mane of hair from her face and twisting the switch on her lamp as she searched for her wand in the mess of their clothes. While this part, the business-like way she handled contraception, the way she fumbled about for her wand in the spilling light of her antique lamp, was familiar, his gaze was not. She could feel his eyes resting upon her, following her, caressing her. She had been trying to ignore those eyes all night, their silver depths reflecting some indecipherable emotion that set her on edge. She just wanted to act like this had been completely normal, just another night of great sex and not an absolute baring of her soul to him. She felt like he was dissecting her as he lounged on the bed, eyes thoughtful, smile faint on his face as he watched her finally retrieve her wand and tap it against her stomach after muttering her contraceptive spell.

_Never had it been slow. Never had they done anything that would constitute as making love. Never had it gone past the carnal need for some release in a place they knew was safe. With someone they knew wouldn't laugh, wouldn't argue, wouldn't push for them to stay or leave, wouldn't expect anything more than a kiss goodbye._

_So why tonight? Why was tonight different? Why had he gone slow? And why had she let him?_

Why?

Not just the slow sex, not just... _making_ _love._ Why had he taken her to all of these amazing places? Why had he done everything so differently than he had in the past three years. Nothing was different, nothing had changed. So why tonight, of all nights, did he suddenly decide to flip their entire routine inside out and backwards and color the entire thing green? It had been like being with a completely different person, a person that flirted and joked, and _made love. _Why couldn't he have just kept things simple?

And then he spoke, and she thought she almost snapped her wand in half placing it on her night stand.

"What if you got pregnant?"

The question, once released, was like a swarm of Pixies.

Loud.

Destructive.

And really. Fucking. _D__angerous._

"What?" her voice was incredulous, void of all emotion she was so shocked. Her face was deathly pale, she almost resembled a scared animal, all wide eyes, bushy hair, and deliciously naked skin.

"What if you got pregnant, Hermione?" he asked in the same exact tone. Casual. Completely nonchalant.

"_Are you fucking crazy?" _she demanded, crossing her arms over her stomach in almost a protective manner, as if just saying the word could somehow impregnate her, "Don't _say _things like that Draco! You're practically inviting it to happen!"

"So you don't want to get pregnant, then?" he asked, face a mask of unreadable calm as he sat up.

Hermione could hardly hear anything over the pounding in her ears, yet still managed to scream, "Are you _daft? Of course I don't want to be pregnant!" _her voice was shrill with anger and a lasting absolute shock. Was he playing with her? Pulling some sick prank?

"But what if it happened, Hermione?" he asked, his voice still persistent, his eyes still searching her for some kind of answer she obviously didn't have at the ready. What was he _doing?_ What could possibly be running through his mind that made him think this was a completely fair line of questioning?

Still, she knew being angry would not help her reach her answers any faster. Taking a deep breath, she pushed her curls from her face and calmly shook her head. "It wouldn't, Draco. We always use the right spells, and-"

"But what if we forgot?" he interjected, turning to look at her, the sheets twisting about his waist as he looked at her with those silver eyes. "What if we fell asleep or just forgot to say it?"

Her voice was bordering on venomous. "We _wouldn't."_

"But what if we _did?"_

"_I _wouldn't."

"I _understand that._ Merlin knows I can't hold you for more than a minute after sex-"

"Since when the _fuck _do you want to _hold _me after sex?" she shouted, snatching his dress shirt from the floor to push her arms angrily through. She hated arguing with him naked, even if it meant more clothing for him to rip off in the event of make up sex.

At her question, she saw his shoulders deflate, saw something in him falter. He regained himself in a moment, his voice uneven but firm, "Just answer the question."

"I don't _want _to!"she responded, turning to leave the bed room. It was just all too much, suffocating her.

The door slammed in her face.

"_Draco._" she hissed, turning to see him holding his wand out at her, now wearing his boxers as he stood from the bed.

"What if we got pregnant, Hermione?" he asked her slowly, articulately, his eyes reaching into her and pleading, pulling at her. He walked toward her, placing his wand on the bed and stepping over their discarded clothes to get to her. "What if we were pregnant?"

"_We? _Draco, there wouldn't be a _we._" she said angrily, desperately. When was she going to wake up from this awful, taunting nightmare? She wanted to cry, wanted to scream. He had no idea how often she had woken from dreams of his children in her arms, only to find her bed as empty as her heart. Foolish dreams, she had told herself, dreams that would never come true. "There _isn't _a we, Draco. What we have isn't... We don't... I would never let myself get pregnant." Damn her voice for cracking, her tears for blurring her yes even as she willed them not to fall.

"You aren't answering my question." he said to her, gripping her arm. He was clearly frustrated, even more than she. But _why? Why _did he need to know this _right_ now?

"You wouldn't have to worry about it." she said finally, trying to sound as cold as possible. The words and their implications nearly broke her inside, tore at her, made her womb ache with the phantom pain of losing a child. Just thought of it was unbearable.

"You will _not_ abort a Malfoy." he growled suddenly, his eyes burning with determined rage.

"But I could abort a Granger?" she countered sharply, bitterly.

"You can't abort anyone! No matter what the name, you will not be aborting our child."

"I can't abort anyone because _I'm not FUCKING pregnant!" _she screamed ripping herself away from him to stalk back into the room and collect her clothes.

"Merlin, Draco!" she sighed in exasperation, "You're creating problems where there are none. There is no baby to abort! There is no Malfoy, there is no Granger! Just a dumbass Slytherin that has clearly lost his mind." Picking up her dress, she quickly transigured the green satin into a pair of baggy sweat pants and pulled them on.

They were silent for a long, cold moment, as she tore off his shirt and went to her dresser to pull on a tee shirt. It was one of his, of course. He was everywhere else in her world, why not in her fucking bureau?

"Hermione Granger would never kill a child. You could never do it." The accusation was soft, but firm, and it took all the wind from her sails in a single huff. Their eyes met like pools of silver meeting the sun.

Hermione sank onto the bed.

"No. I couldn't."

The admission immediately neutralized the charged air of the room. Great. So no innocent wizard children would be dying at their mercy in the future.

"Then what would you do?" he asked on an exhale. Finding his way back to the bed, he sat beside her, close enough to comfort her yet far enough away to address the situation without distraction. She noted the fidgeting of his hands, but swallowed through her confused and frantic thoughts to answer him.

"I would raise the child in London." she shrugged, looking about her room listlessly. The answer had come so simply to her in the past. She had always knew, no doubt, that her child would be a Londoner, almost as firmly as she believed they would be Gryffindor. Now, however, she was unsure. Especially after he asked her:

"And what about me?" his brows knit together, but she missed the hint of anger there in his eyes, and continued:

"I would not expect anything of you, Draco." It was true. He was the _heir _to one of the most significant companies in both the Wizarding and Muggle world. She was merely an assistant. She would never expect him to give up his career for a half-blooded child, as much as it killed her.

He stood then, fists clenched. "Well how _bloody __polite of you, _Hermione! Assuming I would not want a life with my own child! How _thoughtful!_" Oh, was he bitter. _Outraged. **Insulted.**_

"Like I could expect you to care for a half-blood child!" she responded on the behalf of their imaginary child. This was becoming an increasingly confusing argument, Hermione suddenly realized, even as she continued to shout her answers back in his face without the least bit of hesitance. First she was getting an abortion he had forbade her from getting, and now they were suddenly arguing over raising a child _that she was not pregnant with; a child that did not exist twenty minutes ago._

"That's bullshit, Hermione. And you know it. I would protect our child with my life."

"There isn't an _our _here, Draco, get that through your head!"

"There most certainly is an _our _involved here, especially if it were a child! _Our _child, our _family!"_

"I'm not your wife, Draco!"

"Marry me, then!"

She stared at him.

"That is _not _how that was supposed to come out." Draco breathed, watching her in panic as she began gathering the remainder of her belongings from the floor.

"I think we're done here," she said matter-of-factly, avoiding his eyes as if they would turn her to stone. "I'll be going."

"Hermione, this is your flat."

She was walking to her door, "Yes, do make sure to feed Crookshanks. I'll send for him."

"Send for him?"

"Yes. From London."

"_Granger!" _he half snarled-half sighed, bolting from the bed to catch her as she stormed down the hallway. "Would you just wait a second and _let me explain?" _He yelled at her back, stumbling over the damned hair ball Crookshanks as he tried to catch Hermione's waist.

"Unless you are fully prepared to explain how demanding that I marry you is at all a justifiable demand as of right now, I have no need to be here." she was grabbing her keys, her rain coat, her boots. Walking about her kitchen and flipping through switches and all that. Like she was _actually _leaving.

"Hermione, hold on a second." he hissed, gripping her waist to stop her. She fought him, pushing against his hands, but he was stronger, as he always had been, and thrust her up onto the counter to look her square in the eye. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Then how _did _you mean it? How does one _accidentally _propose to someone? And one they aren't even dating!" she shouted in his face, attempting to slide off the counter, but he held her fast, forcing her to look at him.

"It wasn't an _accident_... I just didn't mean to say it this soon." he said through his teeth, blinking hard. He could feel a migraine coming on, an issue he had never had before beginning this affair with her.

He was still 100% sure they were worth it.

She was _literally _worth the headache.

"Excuse me?" was her only reply, her golden eyes wide on his face, pouty lips pursed in worry.

He took a deep breath then, to steel himself. This was it. He could actually say it aloud, actually _tell _her.

"Hermione, I lo-"

"Is this what this whole date thing was about?" she asked suddenly, eye brows knit as she looked at him with irritated eyes. "Some big prank to freak me out? Take me out, come home to _make love_, pretend to propose to me? All just to get under my skin? Cause it isn't funny!" she cried.

Draco's jaw dropped.

"What? Hermione, that is _not _what this was-"

"You aren't clever either! I caught on hours ago! We don't _make love_, Draco! We have sex! We _fuck, _for Merlin's sake! So if, for one second, you think you succeeded, think again!"

"Granger!"

"And if you think you can get away with sending me into a fit over imaginary children and a fake proposal-"

He kissed her.

_Hard._

That simple, he gripped her by the back of the neck and smashed his lips into hers, and she was finally, blissfully, _quiet. _How else could he get her to shut her trap? Once she got going on that high horse of hers, he knew she would never stop. So he kissed her to keep her from speaking.

And because he _really _wanted to.

_Hmm..._

"I took you out tonight because I wanted to see what it would be like to court you. To date you. To do things properly for once in our lives." he said against her lips, continuing to kiss her even as she tried to continue speaking. "I wanted to know that I could make you smile, make you happy in places outside of work and the bedroom." She was kissing him back now. "I wanted to know that this could work."

It was truly amazing, the change he saw once he pulled away and beheld her. The softness in her eyes, the timidness in her touch, the trembling of the hands that traced his collar bones as he stroked her back.

When she spoke, he thought his knees would turn to jam. It was that scared voice, the small one she used after they fought and she desperately wanted to be forgiven. "What is _this_, Draco?"

He smiled at her lopsidedly, no trace of a _smirk _or _sneer. _He only smiled, rested the tip of his nose against hers, then his forehead to hers. "Hermione Granger," he began with a kiss against her lips, then on the side of her mouth. "I don't know how," He was kissing down her cheek, to her jaw then, his hands tracing the waistband of her sweatpants. "Or when." She lifted her hips as if by nature, allowing him to slide them off of her gently as he continued to kiss her neck. "But over the course of the past three years, you have become a necessity to my life. You have become as equally important to my life as the air I breathe. You say we don't make love, but not a day went by after we slept together that the word love wasn't in my mind. Tonight I watched you smile, I watched you laugh, I watched your nerves melt away as we indeed did make love. And after tonight, I hope to make love to you every night, every day, from this night on. I know my approach to breaching this topic could have been much more... Tactful." She giggled at this, a sweet sound mixed with something deeper as her nails ran across his shoulders. "I suppose asking you to father my imaginary children was not the smoothest way to handle the situation. Nor was _demanding _that you marry me." Okay, now she was laughing, and he was blushing. "But you are brilliant. And cunning. And courageous. You're beautiful and poised and _stubborn as hell. _Believe me when I say I would not have started this whole affair if I didn't fully intend to make you mine some day. I do not make light of sexual encounters, despite what everyone tended to say about me in school."

Hermione arched an eye brow at him, leaning away from his lips to look at him in shock. "You mean even three years ago you wanted me? You know... Other than sexually?" she asked him.

"You're too smart for to fall for my bullshit, Hermione. And I knew you wouldn't try to get yourself pregnant with a Malfoy heir right off the bat." he said, then added, "Why do you think I never slept with Pansy?"

She faltered a moment, her mouth gaping. "You... You mean... You've never... Slept with anyone else?"

He lowered his brows in confusion. "Have _you?" _For a second, she thought he was going to turn green with jealousy.

She could have laughed out loud. Or cried. Shaking her head vigorously, she answered, "You were my first... My only. The only one I've every had, and the only one I've ever wanted."

His smile was beautiful, pearly, straight, wide and glowing. He burst with laughter then, lifting her off the counter and into the air. She squealed until he put her feet back on the floor, where he kissed lips soundly. Their first kiss that didn't involve sex or getting the other to stop talking for a second.

Their first kiss.

"Now I understand why you hate surprises. You have a wonderful knack for ruining them." he said merrily, wrapping his arms about her waist.

She scoffed, of course. "I'm sorry, I wasn't exactly expecting to be bloody proposed to tonight!"

"That was the point!"

"So you aren't taking it back?" Her eyes were direct, her voice alert and aware. She was absolutely giving him the option out, the chance to save himself. And maybe it was even a challenge.

He was always up for a challenge.

"No."

Resolute, posture resembling that of a know-it-all little Gryffindor he used to torment and adore as much as a twelve year old could adore someone, Hermione pulled away from him and crossed her arms over her breasts. He loved when she looked determined, especially when she crossed her arms like that and slouched on one hip, making her legs look even longer, left completely bare by his old tee shirt.

"Then you're going to have to ask, properly." she said, gesturing to the floor with her chin.

He smirked, a _very Malfoy_ smirk, sinking down to one knee even as he spoke. "You know, love, if you wanted proper, you should have told me that three years ago before we lost our virginities on my kitchen floor." She reached down and smacked him on the arm, and he held his hands up in defense. "I'm not even wearing pants! Neither are you actually. Are you sure there isn't another reason you wanted me down here? You may want to move closer to the counter, I know how your knees can just give out at times," That time, she kicked him in the side, and he surrendered. "Okay, okay!" He chuckled deeply, reaching out to take her hand in his.

"Hermione Jean Granger," he said softly, looking up into her eyes. "I never thought I would be on a first name basis with you, let alone share a bed with you. Everything about us, everything we've ever been, enemy, friend, lover, protector; it was unexpected. While our school days are far behind us now, there has never been a day that goes by that I don't want to take it all back. Not a day that I haven't wished to kiss away the scars on your body and soul," At this, he couldn't help his hand travelling over her wrist to trace the residual marks forever there. _Mudblood_, they had once read, clear as day and just as red as the blood that coursed through his so-called Pure veins. She only returned the gesture, taking a step in to ghost her fingers across the mark on his arm, mirroring her scars. They were both marked, both scarred.

"And not a day goes by that I don't love you more and more. I often told myself that this affair was the only way I could ever hope to have you. I warned myself not to fall, but I was already descending. Hard. Fast. You're my best friend, and you're the only woman I've ever wanted. Ever _needed_. And I know that we can make it. We will make it. And before you know it we will be arguing over _real _children and stupid business deals and making play dates with what are sure to be numerous little Weasley and Potter and Zabini brats. And we'll laugh and cry and _hate _each other at times but we'll never have to worry because we _know _that the make up sex will be _wicked." _Merlin, they were a mess then, laughing and crying and Hermione was gripping his hands and nearly shaking with anticipation.

"And Merlin bloody knows what my parents are going to say when I show up tomorrow to retrieve my mother's engagement ring. I may have to bring you to keep me safe - I still think my father is afraid of you after you reamed him out over cutting Christmas bonuses for the cleaning staff and threatened to turn him into a weasel-"

"_Mongoose!"_

"But we'll make it. And we'll live happily forever like in those awful fairy tales you once made me read to Potter's kid when you babysat last year. Even if it means I have to stop kicking your flea bag cat - I'll just sleep on your side, I usually do anyway." He was rambling now, he knew it. He just couldn't stop speaking, knowing he had to say it eventually. "Merlin, Hermione, I'm bloody terrified, suddenly."

"I am, too." she smiled through her tears, nodding vigorously.

"I love you, Hermione Jean Granger."

"I love you too, Draco Lucius Malfoy."

"Will you marry me?"

She couldn't even speak, she only nodded over and over again before collapsing into his arms in a heap of tears and hair and weak limbs. All he could truly sense were her kisses, all over his chest, neck, and face, as every other nerve in his body was on fire with adrenaline.

"Yes," she said with a firm kiss against his lips, wiping at tears as they continued to slip down her cheeks. "I'll marry you. I'll marry you a million times if I have to."

He smiled widely at her, wiping at his own tears - leave it to this girl to turn a Malfoy into a blubbering mess - he pulled her into his lap and stood with her in one motion, wrapping her long legs about his waist as he kissed her nose. "Let's hope we can get it right the first time."

"And let's hope your father doesn't skin me for a rug when he finds out." she commented dryly, even as he began walking her back to her bedroom.

"And you think your Golden boys will react any better? Weasley is going to kill me." he mumbled against her neck, falling onto the bed with her. "When had he gotten her shirt off? And where had his boxers gone.

All questions for the morning, much like the matters they were discussing now.

"I believe we can put off thoughts of my friends and your family for a bit longer, don't you?" her words ticked his chest hair, along with her lips and he trailed his hands down her back almost distractedly.

"Completely agreed."

And then everything was dark and bright and right and wrong all at once, and there was no first or last time. It was only about the next and the next time, until they were both spent, and lulled to sleep, wands lost somewhere in the sheets, words completely unnecessary.

* * *

><p><strong>THE END!<strong>

**Or is it? Thing is, guys, this was INTENDED to be a one shot. BUT, for you all, I will consider a second installment. Maybe even a third ;) **

**PLEASE tell me what you think! Love you guys! **


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